Feature

By Hilal Nakiboglu Isler

Dropping it Like it's Hot: Desi Dance Competition Takes Philadelphia by Storm

“It’s not too late to change songs,” Shalin Patel quips over a rapid-fire dhol (drum) beat pulsing out of two small iPod speakers. He watches his teammates hesitate while executing a difficult dance maneuver. One hour remains before the curtains go up on PhillyFest 2006—just one of many national Desi dance competitions that will take place on American college campuses this year. Tonight, we are at the University of Pennsylvania (Penn), in the fluorescently-lit dressing room of their all-male dance troupe named Dhamaka.

Sequined vests hang from a metal rod and an oversized hoagie, brought in from a greasy, West Philadelphia fast food place, sits limp and half-eaten on a table lined with plastic Gatorade bottles. Dhamaka, a favorite in tonight’s competition, seems up to the challenge. They have practiced endlessly and are poised to place.

Shalin, a third-year medical student at Penn with dark circles under his eyes, has a lot on his mind: “boards for one thing.” Before a competition like this, Dhamaka averages six-to-eight hours of intense dance practice a day. Often, it is well after midnight when the men finally call it a night. There are dances to be created, choreography to be learned, and music to be artfully (re)mixed and cut.

But for Shalin, the hours of effort are well worth it. “I actually find this energizing,” he says. Tonight, he and the twelve other members of Dhamaka will be performing along with nine collegiate teams—some from as far away as San Diego, California.

The competition, in the form of a soft-spoken young woman from Northwestern University, has now come knocking. She asks where her team, Deeva, can grab a bite to eat before the show. “Lee’s Hoagies,” offers veteran dancer and Penn senior, Aniket “Ketu” Shah, “that’s where we got our food.” Ketu waits until she is out of earshot. “Of course,” he adds, “they have to send the hottest one over here to ask us.”

The “Deeva” disappears into the narrow hallway filled with frenzied activity. Payal-adorned feet softly jingle and pad their way across the scratched parquet-floor, while young men struggle to fold the fabric of their outfits. In the air, music mixes with shrill exclamations: “Can someone help me with my makeup!” “Who has the safety pins?” This night is about dance, but it is also about much more. As Ketu says, a straight-up brand of brotherhood is at Dhamaka’s core, “but on a larger scale, it’s also about preserving our culture.”

Competitions like PhillyFest are often very effective at highlighting the richness of South Asian America performing arts. Groups like Dhamaka are far less interested in featuring the dance traditions of the desh (country) their parents left behind some years ago. Instead, through a smart, purposeful mixing of flamboyant fashions and fluid moves, they help define and showcase what it means to be a young Desi in America today.

When the show begins, it is a quarter to seven, only 15 minutes behind schedule. The audience members have been guided into sections based upon the team they have come to support. I am sitting on the edges of the Penn-supporters’ section. Next to me are Manoj and Meera Shah, who have made the four-plus hour drive from Albany, New York to see their son, Dhamaka president, Manjool, compete one last time before his graduation. As the chants assume a new urgency, they begin to sound like battle-cries to us. Between the whistles, loud claps and ground-shaking stomps emanating from the various sections of the audience, Manoj Shah leans in and grins, “This is the fun part.”

For the three hours that follow, the audience maintains its high energy. One team after another entertains as they slide and leap across the Zellerbach Theater stage. Missy Eliot tracks blend with the fast beats of “Nach Baliye.” The young men of New York University’s Pandemonium exude machismo in their baggy, urban athletic gear, which they ultimately rip off mid-song to reveal matching dhotis

(a rectangular cloth worn around the waist, hanging down the legs)—a symbolic demonstration of how American and Desi identities can be layered brilliantly.

There are exercises in limber athleticism and awesome examples of over-the-top showmanship. When UCLA’s co-ed team, Nashaa, takes the stage, we are captivated by electric blue sequined outfits, which would put Bollywood to shame. The Rutgers University team, SAPA (South Asian Performing Arts), wheels out a prop containing members of the troupe who soon leap out of it and onto the stage. We are at the intersection of theatrics and thrills, where the fun is infectious and the competition fierce.

Penn’s all-male a cappella group, Penn Masala, and up-and-coming comic, Harvin Sethi, entertain the audience as the judges deliberate. Respect, an ostentatious trophy, and a total of $5,000 in prizes await the top three teams. The jitters are palpable as the performers line up on stage one last time. We all burst into fevered, rhythmic chants. The din lifts and swells to fill the high ceilings of the auditorium. One thousand people croak, pound and stamp their way through minutes of an unbelievable, deafening frenzy.

When Penn’s Dhamaka is announced as the third place winner, the Shahs and I leap to our feet. We are not alone. The home crowd of supporters is raucous and the room explodes. But the top slots still remain. The Rutgers team places second. A bit unexpectedly, the University of California, San Diego underdogs, KYA, are awarded the reigning title. For the other teams lingering awkwardly on stage and blinking into the blinding lights, the disappointment is clear. Yet for them, the consolation remains: there is always next year.

Hilal Nakiboglu Isler lives in Upstate New York. Online, she makes her home at: http://www.cs.rpi.edu/~isler/hilal.

Back to Top